Tuesday, January 31, 2006

A Glutton For Punishment

Nearly a year after we'd last spoken, I decided to call my mother yesterday evening. Aside from the nagging feeling I'd been having that something might be amiss, and the need to satisfy this unusual curiosity, all of my initial feelings were put to rest, only to find out that nothing had changed over the course of the past year.

I know some of you reading this are having a Dr. Phil moment, saying outloud to the computer screen with the hope that I can somehow hear you, "What were you thinking?" and "How's that working for you?" All I can offer you by way of an explanation is that I don't know what I was thinking, and that, no, it isn't working for me.

It was during our conversation that I'd come to the realization that no matter how hard I try to establish some shred of communique between she and I, she will never change. She will never accept responsibility for the things she has done, she will never come to terms with who she has become, she will never commit to any form of relationship with my children, and she will never respect the things I have gone through in order for me to become the man I am today. In short, I don't see how there will never be any semblance of a relationship between she and I. Too much time has passed, too many rights have been wronged, and too many wrongs have been righted.

I know, I know, I know, my trustworthy Dr. Philians, never say never, right. Well, sometimes it's not a matter of saying never, rather an understanding that never itself, has replaced possibility, has replaced hope, has replaced honesty... and that never, although an indeterminable amount of time, is simply a metaphor for moving forward and leaving the past in the past.

That's where I am right now, more than ready to leave the past in the past. I know there is nothing more I can do to mend this relationship, and without airing her dirty laundry, I am willing to say that there appears to be little she is willing to do to come to terms with herself. When you combine both of these aspects, the consensus is that the relationship is over.

Last night I gave her every opportunity to air any and all grievances she has against me. What I received was nothing short of the same old rehashed nonsense, only this time with new players, fingers being pointed in different directions, and forgotten accusations. What do you do with that? How can you lay a foundation when it is made from shit by-products?

(((sigh.)))

I learned long ago that the truth in my mother's conversations is in fact not the truth, but a bastardized version of who she feels is at fault at that precise moment. At one time or another, my entire family has been to blame for the events in her life, and now... now everything has come full circle, and I am certain that as I write this, in her mind, last night's phone conversation was entirely different than what actually took place, thus once again catapulting me to the top of the shit pile, but that's ok. I've been here before. It's familiar territory. I've grown comfortable with holding the position as king shit, and as such, have allowed my title to benefit my own healing needs.

(((sigh.)))

It's unfortunate. The whole Goddamn thing. But sometimes you need to cut your losses before everything you have is gone. I won't speak for the rest of my family, but I know where my head is right now, and I know what I have to do. That said...

...as of today, I am relinquishing my title as a glutton for punishment and refocusing my efforts on my family.

4 Comments:

You won't get any Dr. Phil comments from me. That man is a pompous ass. I'm sorry your phone called turned out that way, especially after you made an effort to reach out to her. Personally, I am praying that I won't repeat the mistakes my mother has made, and her mother before her.

Sure you can add me to your list, thanks. Fair warning, there could be quite a bit of whining in my blog since I am enmeshed in a terrible situation right now. I'll try to keep it to a minimum. I enjoy your blog, especially since I have my own teen issues, (which have nothing to do with the other problems in my life, they're just icing on the cake.) Not that I'm glad you're having teen issues, too, but I am glad to have some company.

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You know me. I am the cool, the nerd, the jock, the loner, the fatty, the anorexic, the "You're nice, but... let's just be friends," guy. I am the cute, the ugly, the attractive, the average, the intelligent, the stupid, and the sexy one who stands silent against an otherwise vacant wall in life. I am the serious sort, despite my rampant and often over-indulgent jocular side. I am the happy friend, quick witted, with all of the trappings of being unhappy. I am the one holding up progress in the suicide line. I am the one who unjustly possesses the golden ticket of life. I am the fearful one who guides you through your fears, but is too afraid to face my own. I am the born-again bastard with two fathers. I am the adult who never learned how to be a child, and the child who desperately searches for a modicum of adulthood. I am the poster boy for mental health, the cover model for G.Q. I am the centerfold for Playgirl and the homeless man you step over in the gutter. I am you. I am them. I am her. I am him. I am me. I am me. I am...